Holyrood and Westminster parliaments may be returning from their holidays this week, but I'm just traipsing off on mine. I think I navigated through August's unforgiving cucumber days tolerably well this year (at least this year, there was no turgid poetry), but a wee rest and recharge before the start of another academic term feels very much indicated.
After a heart-stopping fracas with an unexpectedly absent passport this morning, I'm glad to report that my red and white polkadot bindle is now packed with provisions, pronged on a stick, and I'm cheerfully primed for just over a week away from it all in the south of France. As you might expect, I intend to stow my inkpot, keyboard and Scottish political obsessions for the entire duration of my short stay in Cathar country. Expect peaty silence, and a wholesale dearth of Scoto-politico-legal commentary, to reign here until my return.